


Light In The Darkness

by SherlockDreadsNaught



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Dead People, Gen, Minor Violence, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 13:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2389934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockDreadsNaught/pseuds/SherlockDreadsNaught
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a mangled corpse of an aging prostitute is brought in to determine a cause of death, Dr. Henry Morgan is caught up in a web of terror, violence, and subversive activities. Will he rise above the gritty world he has discovered while a problem at home keeps him occupied and on the edge of despair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I have to give a huge shout out to my bestie jawnslulluby21 for giving me the idea to meld an idea I had with an idea she came up with! We're co-writing this and having a blast!! Our only regret is that days don't have about 36 hours in them, so we could just set aside huige chunks of time to just WRITE!

_His hands shook as he opened the plain brown wrapped package. Out of habit, he looked around, his face resembling a feral rat. There was a particular protocol he always followed to insure that he was alone. So, before he went any further, he made sure the door was locked and the window blinds were down and pulled tight. It wouldn't do for his neighbours to get nosy and he preferred to watch his collections in the near dark. Not that he ever spoke to any of his neighbours. He wasn't that type of man to be friendly and sociable, particularly given his rather odd interests._

_Finally. He was ready. The final unveiling. Off went the paper, floating to the cluttered floor like a disabled kite, tape trailing like a tail. The wiry man turned the unmarked DVD over and over in his sweaty hands. There were no markings, no photos, nothing to indicate the vitreous content within, and that was also better. Nobody knew his tastes, except perhaps for his supplier, and he, or they, the man wasn't sure how many were involved with the Network, only accepted clean bills in denominations of  no higher than 20 in return for the acid pleasure that he was about to watch._

_He hadn't always been like this, an addict searching for a fix so he could entertain his dark and disturbing fantasies. He used to watch mainstream stuff, always with blondes, sometimes with pregnant women.  But like most good men who start out Christian, somehow, between the booze and the bitter, he got sidetracked and here he was. Speaking of pregnant women! His pulse did a thing and he sat down abruptly. Oh and what a thrill would it be if this very disc had a pregnant woman on it! He felt his heart pound a bit harder in anticipation and with some resolve, loaded the DVD into his player._

_As always, as was the case in the other three DVD's he had purchased, the first minutes were static. He leaned forward and squinted, licking his lips as he anticipated what was to come. Sure enough, it didn't disappoint him. The first scene was that of an older looking blonde woman, still quite thin for her age. She sported an impressive rack. His breath caught in his throat as he watched the camera follow her as she sashayed down the street. She paused, lit a cigarette, and threw the match into the debris at the curb. The smoke was enveloping her and the tip of the cigarette was reddish gold in the darkness where the street light didn't reach. Suddenly, a man pulled at her from behind, an arm firmly around her neck. The cigarette floated down to the ground as she was carried off kicking but not screaming due to the rag stuffed into her open mouth._

_Static briefly and then the stone walled sanctuary of death. The man chuckled as he wondered exactly what the thoughts were of the captive woman. Was she thinking she would try to escape? To bargain with her captors?  Did she actually think she was going to walk out of that very room?  These options, he thought, were not likely._

_The camera was steady and showed her tied to a chair, her eyes wide. As the lens zoomed in for a close up, the reflection in her glossy wide teary eyeballs showed a man wearing a hood approaching her. He held a small Medieval looking axe of some sort with hard metal spikes sticking out of it. She tried to scream but it was muffled in the gag. Her shirt came off in one strong pull, popping the buttons that held it on her body. The man watching was breathing hard now, excited but not yet at his limit. That would come later, no pun intended, for this was just the beginning of a macabre foreplay of a sick and dangerously twisted mind. It was his guilty pleasure, his obsessions, his homecoming. The man rubbed the gathering sweat off his furrowed brow and reached up to turn off the light._

*****          *****          *****          *****          *****          *****          *****          *****          ***** 

 

Henry Morgan pulled the small chain on his desk lamp and turned it on.  All was quiet, so he thought he'd take a little time and work on his pet project, which was trying to figure out the mystery of his own apparent immortality. He jokingly called himself a student of death, which was appropriate considering he was the chief medical examiner of the city of New York.  A man who could not die, surrounding himself every day with the corpses of those who had died unusual or seemingly inexplicable deaths.  No, correction to that, he mused, it's not that he could not die; in fact he was quite good at dying.  The mystery was why he could not stay dead, and after over 200 years, it was a mystery he was hoping to solve.  Not to die, no, he wasn't exactly anxious to die, but instead to just break they mystery and go on living a normal life. To experience the cycle of life, as he had explained to Abe a couple of weeks before.

The thought of Abe sparked the memory of another recent conversation they had had, near the conclusion of a case Abe had unwittingly gotten himself entangled in.  What were Abe's words?  "I worry about you; I worry about who's going to take care of you when I'm gone."  It was something they rarely spoke of, the fact that Abe, who was Henry's son that he adopted at the end of World War II, was growing older, and while he was healthy as a horse, they both knew Abe had far fewer days ahead of him than lay behind him.  Henry plunked down in his chair, heaving out a huge sigh and rubbing his face with the palms of both hands.  It was something they should talk about, wasn't it?  Abe was the only person who knew his secret. No, correction to that, Detective Jo Martinez had seen him die ([here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2260263/chapters/4963071) ) and so he had revealed the truth to her.  But Abe was the person he relied on for decades to come find him when he emerged from the water, sputtering, chilled, and stark naked.  Henry sat and let the waves of dread wash over him as he contemplated being along and on his own again, as it seemed he had been for most of the almost 250 years he had been alive.  His eyes roamed over his cozy--his own description--laboratory in the basement of the old building housing Abe's Antiques and their large flat/apartment.  He'd end up having to move on, to disappear and to re-invent himself some place else. Where he had never contemplated, and at this moment his mind refused to even toy with suggestions.  So much to do, when the time came. The shop would need to be sold, contents and all, the flat as well, and then there was the problem of what to do with his personal belongings...

Upstairs, the vintage 1960's phone that was on Abe desk in the shop rang.  Henry cocked an ear and counted. Eight rings before they hung up.  The shop's answering machine must not have been turned on, so maybe whoever it was would call their flat and leave a message.  Time to get to work, now that the phone had broken his somewhat morbid train of thought.  He was just finding his place in his work when the shop's old phone started ringing again, and again eight times.  Persistent, whoever it was.  When the ringing started up again, Henry gpt up and ran up the stiars two at a time.  There is persistent, and then there is obsessive!

"Hello?"

"Hey, Henry? Hey, it's Joe Landon! Where's Abe? The team is waiting for him!"

Henry frowned. "Team?"

"Yeah, it's league night, we need him!"

"He wasn't here when I got home from work; I just assumed he'd already left."

"Well, that's a fine how do ya do! Guess we'll have to bowl without him. When he gets in, you give him an earful from me and the boys, OK?"

Henry placed the receiver back into the cradle and stood staring at the old phone for a few seconds. It certainly wasn't like Abe to forget bowling league night, and he hadn't seen any note from him telling him he'd gone elsewhere or had had a change of plans.  A niggle of worry crept into the back of his mind.  Maybe he should go out, along Abe's usual route to the bowling alley, and see if maybe he'd had car trouble or something had happened. Car accident?  Detour?  Or what if it was...

"Hey, what are you doing standing in the dark?" Abe opened the door to the shop and switched on one opf the lights. He had several  cloth shopping bags with him, and Henry could see vegetables and fruits, a bakery bag, and other items sticking out of them.

"Where have you been?  Joe just called, they're waiting for you at the bowling alley!"

"Bowling alley? Oh thanks!" Abe grinned his thanks at Henry for taking one of the heavy shopping bags.

"Yes, it's Tuesday night, Abe, it's league night!" 

"Oh. Oh crap, so it is!"

"Look, you just grab your bowling bag and go, I'll call Joe back."  Once he got Abe out the door and on his way, Henry called Joe. "It's Henry. Abe is on his way. He got delayed at the grocery store."  Hanging up, Henry winced.  He'd never had to lie for Abe before, and it bothered him considering Abe seemed to have forgotten what day it was! That and the fact that he had done the grocery shopping the day before.


	2. This Just In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "'cause you're working  
> building a mystery  
> holding on and holding it in  
> yeah you're working  
> building a mystery  
> and choosing so carefully"  
> Sarah McLachlan

_The movie did not disappoint the man. He saw the thin blonde get hammered in her eye sockets. She was slashed with a series of sharp scalpels, long and short. Her hair ran red with blood when her scalp was ripped back and her brain exposed only to receive a series of pokes from a pen type instrument. She was still alive when she was crisscrossed cut by a round roller with jagged edges and as she had her head sawed from her torso to expose her windpipe and the bones of her neck, she screamed in pain._

_The man drooled. Drops of spit ran down his chin onto his bare chest. Sometimes he wondered how these people stayed alive, and then he realized that it didn't matter. Dead or alive they were just instruments for his lust and his sick sense of excitement. Three DVD's. Three people tortured to death. This one was probably the best, if he had to choose one. The blonde was attractive in a drugged out well worn way. He thought perhaps she was a hooker. No great loss there then._

_He checked his bank statement. Money from his 'disability' made it easy for him to stay at home all day and think about this kind of death and torture. He would have to wait, however, until next month to purchase another. In the meantime, though,he would have to order another film. Advance notice, the voice on the other end of the phone had told him at the beginning, was vital. The man pressed the only saved number on his Tract Phone and waited when until the tone sounded. He left his order number, the same one he had been assigned at the beginning of this ordering spree, and placed his phone face down on the end table beside him. Still salivating slightly, he pressed the button on the DVD remote and sat back to watch the thin blonde getting killed once again._

 

 

 

____________________________________________________________________________________________________

"Did you ever see Harold and Maude?"

Henry paused and looked up over his safety glasses at the earnest face of his assistant, Lucas. He searched his memory quickly and came up with the basic premise. Ruth Gordon as an elderly woman courted by a young man with a death wish. It was curiously in tune with his latest thoughts about death and Abe forgetting simple things. For instance that very morning, Abe had forgotten to set the timer on the coffee pot. Henry had got up and shuffled to the kitchen only to find nothing in the glass pot. In fact, Abe hadn't even added the coffee or the water! Perhaps it was a good thing he hadn't turned it on.

"A bit before your time wasn't it?" Henry muttered, returning to concentrate on removing the enlarged spleen from the man's corpse that lay on the table in front of him.

"Yeah it was. And oldie but a goodie. Classic. My ex girlfriend's girlfriend asked me to a film festival Saturday. You know, all of those uptown snobs wearing their designer clothes, flocking to an old theatre that smells like an old ladies sock drawer, watching old time films of actors who are long gone. Yeah. Fun times."

"Why did you go then, Lucas? Seems to me you could have found something else to do with your time." Henry grasped the slippery organ with a pair of forceps and examined it. Sure enough, part of it was whitish grey from an infection. The man had died of septicemia.

"Well, ya know, she was hot and I thought hey, if I go and feign interest, I could possibly get into--"

"-- don't wish to know your deep thoughts, Jack Handy." Henry sighed and straightened up. Ruth Gordon. Such a free spirit in that film. She had a tattoo also, from the Concentration Camp she was detained in, and like Abe, emerged a survivor. She was full of life in that movie. And who was Henry? He wasn't Harold exactly, but maybe in this instance, real life DID parallel art.

"Jack Handy, I see what you did there. Wow, Doc, I'm impressed that you watch Saturday Night Live!"  Luiucas spun arind on his stool, grabbing a specimen as he twirled and handing it to Henry.  "So, cause of death?"

"It would appear to be septicemia, and not poisoning as his mother is insisting." He dropped the spleen into the jar and handed it back to Lucas for labeling.  "This man was in the hospital in the past two, possibly three weeks. Look at his left hand; that's got to be the initial site of infection, yet the paper's from the clinic say he was being treated for..."

The double doors to the receiving area suddenly burst open and two ambulance drivers rushed in with a gurney bearing a body bag.  One of them looked through the glass wall and held up a clipboard and pen. Peeling off his gloves and tossing them into the biohazards bin, Henry cast a glance at Lucas who did likewise, and they both headed out to meet the driver.

"Jane Doe, indeterminate age, found in an alley....not a pretty sight, Doc!"  The driver held the clipboard while Henry initialed the necessary papers, then he gave him a folder containing a few documents from the police and some photos. Still in a rush, the drivers fled the scene, thumbing at their police radios as they scurried out of receiving.

"Interesting...." Henry glanced at the paperwork, then at the photos. Lucas peered over his arm. "A very dingy alley...I wonder who found her or how..."

"I can answer that!" Detective Jo Martinez had slipped in quietly and was halfway across the room.  "A municipal truck had gone in to pick up a dumpster.  She was propped up, facing the other way; they thought they had a drunk to chase away. Rude surprise early in the morning." She smiled grimly at the two men.

"And this is under investigation because...."

"Oddly enough, when the body was being collected, a couple of homeless guys showed up claiming Jack the Ripper was back, that some guy has been going around offering big bucks to people to be in movies. Says he'll make them stars...and then these people are never seen again."

Henry scowled, eyes focused on the floor as he thought. "I do not recall any reports..."

"Or bodies!" Lucas interjected.

"That's where you guys may come in handy.  Staten Island has two unclaimed bodies they're holding. Original ruling was a knife fight. Both homeless though."

"You think there's a connection."

"Who's in a knife fight that leaves numerous gouges four and five inches deep?"

 

"Well," Henry looked up from the body of Jane Doe, case 2184, and shook his head. "Any one of these injuries would be enough to be listed as the cause of death. I do not suggest that you look at this very closely, Detective, I can show you using the police photos. The disturbing thing is, this woman was alive right up until the end...and I'm not sure which method of....death actually finished her off!"

"Just give me a run down. Deep knife wounds?"

"No, I'd have to say scalpels but large, hooked ones like might be used to operate on large animals. I'd have to see the other bodies to compare the wounds before I could say the same type of instrument or not."

"I'm looking at the picture of her head..."

"Cut off, quite crudely. Meat cleaver I would guess. The photos don't show what they did to her brain. Looks like a cattle prod was used."  Henry pressed his lips together as he turned his attention to the woman's chest and throat. "And these wounds, these puncture wounds, so evenly placed...some sort of...torture device maybe."

"You have any of those in your collection?"

Henry cleared his throat, gave her a warning shake of his head and cast a glance at Lucas, who was busy typing on the laptop. "Nothing like this, I assure you! Lastly...it looks as though a small chainsaw was used to sever her head."

"And you think she was still alive?"

"Had to be, because of the blood loss. Her heart was still pumping when the saw went through her neck. Not huge spurts like in the movies..."

"Doncha just hate medical inaccuracies in horror flicks?" Lucas intoned to the room in general.

"But pumping none the less. From these photos, not really much blood where she was found?"

"No, there wasn't, which means she wasn't killed there, right?" Jo was frowning at the photos, daring only short glances at the now shrouded body.

"I would have to say no. The alley..."

"I've got a squad car out front if you want to tag along.  Hanson and a couple of others are going to join us there." She smiled wryly at jim. "I had a hunch you'd want to go poke around."

"Just let me grab my coat!"

 

"Odd, just very odd..." Henry was mostly talking to himself as he started to retrace his steps back through the flthy alley.  It was littered with fast food containers, old newspapers, plastic bags, animal waste, a few dead rats, straggly bird feathers...but no blood.  The only blood they had found was a small puddle by the corner of the dumpster where the dead woman had been propped up. "Not even any drops that I can see...it's as if she just appeared there, dead! Sorry, I'm being rude, making mental notes!" He looked at Jo and Mike, gesturing with both arms to take in the length of the grungy alley. "No signs of a struggle, but also no signs that her body was dragged here.  No trail of blood."

"Yeah, and unfortunately the two homeless guys who were talking to the garbage men are no where to be found.  Wasn't that Jack the Ripper thing thought to be some kind of mental hocus-pocus?"

"No, actually, they just linked some DNA to a Polish immigrant who died in an asylum. You need to keep on top of things, Detective." 

"So I do, but we're still left with a mangled body, as yet unidentified, and you don't think she was killed here."

"No, she wasn't, there is simply not enough blood right HERE." Henry turned and began walking back towards the street.

"And you're going where, Henry?" Jo asked.

"Back to the morgue, to really study Jane Doe 2184.  I must have missed something!"

 

 

 

 

 


	3. We Need a Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer--jawnslulluby and I came up with the idea of Jo and Henry getting drunk together a good 24 hours before Forever's creator Matt Miller mentioned it as an idea at the NYCC on 10/12/14. Matt, get out of our heads!!

_Blinds down and closed, curtains pulled tight shut, no lamps turned on. The only illumination was the flickering of the 54 inch flat screen TV.  That's the way he liked it, all closed off and as dark as he could make it.  Even just the process of preparing the viewing area made him feel like he had a purpose in life, and when he called to order each new film, the man on the other end always talked to him respectfully, even asking for suggestions for what he'd like to see.  Oh, it felt wonderful to be respected by actual film makers!_

_He glanced over at the bookcase that held his burgeoning collection of videos. Last time he had called the man had said they were thinking of switching to DVD since it wouod actually cost the less to produce.  It didn't matter to him, as long as they didn't stop making these wonderful films. And if they cost less, he reasoned, then he could buy more at one time. He was in a peculiar mood tonight, so maybe he'd watch all of the videos, and he'd regale in the improving quality and the wonderful special effects.  Two of those videos were based on ideas he had mentioned to the man on the other end of the phone call. Those two were special, but this newest video was gaining favoristism too!_

_Reaching for the remote in the darkness, he realized his palms were sweaty and he was actually holding his breath.  The soundtrack to this one was amazing--loud, sharp, fearful, and so real!  He'd maybe dare to turn the sound up a bit, since he knew the neighbors on both sides of his tract house were at work. Mental note--buy a good set of headphones to plug into the TV, then he could crank the sound up and sit real close and it would be like he was right there. For now he was happy to just glue his gaze to the scenes unfolding, leaning closer and closer as more blood ws produced. The special effects in these movies were SO REAL!  How did they make the wounds look so real? And the blood, it didn't shoot out like in those other horror movies, and that made it look so real.  He moved his chair even closer to the screen, and picked up the remote again, so he could rewind and replay certain parts.  These film makers were truly geniuses, to make these tortures look and sound so real!_

 

 

Henry wheeled the gurney with the Jane Doe 2184 out and positioned it under the large lights. Lucas dutifully rolled two sets of tools out for them to use.  After Henry had relayed to Lucas the findings at the alley, or rather the lack of findings, they'd had a short brain-storming session and agreed what was needed was a much closer examination of the corpse. Not necessarily of the wounds however, and most definitely on the agenda was a careful examination and analysis of the clothing, shoes, and jewelry.  Neither man spoke as they got started, one on either side, tools in hand as well as magnifying glasses.

"Blood samples." Henry suddenly broke the silence.

"To see if we have blood from more than one person. Check!" Lucas nodded without looking up. "This is almost scary, I'm starting to understand how your brain works."

"How is that scary?"

"Well, to anyone observing, they might think we're communicating via ESP or something!" Lucas glanced over at Henry. "You say two words, I know exactly what you're thinking."

"It's not ESP, it's logic! I'm finally getting you trained properly!"

Once again, a silence fell between them but this one was a bit more personable. Both were intent on what they were doing--poking, prodding, scraping, collecting samples.  The same process would be conducted on the clothing and other personal items.  It was a longshot that they'd find blood from another person, but Henry wanted to make sure no stone was unturned.  Sharp objects, struggling victim, perhaps the pressure or fear of being caught in the act; all of those factors could lead to someone else receiving even a tiny wound.

"Some of this blood is older, you can tell, come here and look!" Henry stepped back to let Lucas peer at a blotch on her calf.

"Yeah, I see what you mean! So, has anyone ever called you Hank?"

"Hank? What on earth for?"

"It's a nickname for Henry. Hank Aaron instead of Henry Aaron..."

"Henry Ford, never HANK Ford..."

"Oh come on, Doc!! OK, OK, even Henrik Lundqvist of the New York Rangers is called Hank."

"I have no desire to stuck with a moniker that makes me sound like some sort of weeping, wailing, down-home country-western singer!!"

"It's not that bad!"

"No!" Henry scraped something from the body onto a slide and covered it. "You know," Henry said changing tactics, (anything to get away from the horrid nicknames subject), "It's almost like she was tortured. Kept alive and doing ...things to her." Henry pulled away the skin from the tracheal wounds. "Like this. Killing blow sequence I imagine. But only after they sawed off her scalp and played chopsticks with her brain."

"Oh that's fascinating, Doc." Lucas grimaced and frowned as he looked into a slide under his microscope. "Minute metallic particles from the sawing cuts of her scalp. Had to be a knife of some kind, but serrated. I'd say it was sharp though. Major enough to inflict damage and the wielder must have had some knowledge of how exactly to use it."

"Keep looking. All the things we're finding will help us to a conclusion." Henry stopped and sniffed. The scent of a shower gel and moisturizer was coming closer. He hadn't heard the sound of the electronic doors; he was so caught up in the autopsy of Jane Doe and the other thoughts that threatened to encroach upon his professional duties. "Lieutenant Martinez." Henry looked up over his glasses. "Did you or Detective Hansen find out anything? Any leads?"

"Sadly none." She slumped against one of the tables and sighed. Her eyes were red tinged and Henry wondered if she had been crying. He simply nodded however, and went back to looking at the irregular cuts along the woman's jugular. "You guys finding anything?"

"She was tortured for a very long period of time. That much we do know."

"Why would anyone torture a heroin addicted prostitute? Was she sexually assaulted?" Jo asked, leaning forward but not really looking at the splayed out chest cavity that hovered within her sight.

"Well, she had had sex, although it was an hour or so before the torture started. And she was in the early stages of withdrawal when she was first....attacked."

"The sex was--" Jo began.

"Consensual. She wasn't assaulted." Henry dug deeply into the bones of the windpipe and paused. "Lucas. We still have more to discover."

"Yes, although I wasn't planning on staying over. I wanted to watch the Knicks game on tv. Hey!" He said suddenly. "Maybe the 3 of us could go to Aces, that sports bar on 5th and watch the game."

"Not tonight, Lucas," Henry muttered. He chanced a glance at Jo again and frowned when he saw her face. She looked haunted, weary, tired and pale. "In fact." Henry straightened and laid aside his instruments. "Why don't I call it a night. YOu, on the other hand, could continue to look for any other blood source on here. Check the types of all the blood spatters and if you find anything of note, call me."

"What...what are you going to do?" Lucas stammered, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Lieutenant Martinez is going to give me a ride home." Henry took off his gloves and threw them away, avoiding the arched eyebrows of Jo as he went to scrub his hands. "Remember Lucas! Call me!" Henry pretended not to hear the 'ok Hank' that was launched in his direction.

 

Ten minutes later, Henry slid into the passenger seat of Jo's Toyota and buckled his belt as she walked around the side of the car. It was a long shot to be sure but this met 2 purposes. One, she would have a decent meal and maybe perk up a bit. Two, he would have someone whom he could bounce off his concerns. He waited until she was buckled in and went to start the car.

"Stay for dinner. Abe promised roast chicken and sweet potato casserole." Henry tried to make his voice sound nonchalant when in fact it was not. He would not say the word he would not say the word he would not say the --

"Oh my God. I'll have to increase my spinning class by 30 minutes if I eat all of that!" Jo gave a dry chuckle and started the car, then eased out into traffic where she was met by a typical welcoming New York horn greeting. She ignored it and chanced a look at her passenger. In the dim light, she could tell still waters ran deep and he was about as deep as anyone could be without totally being declared a Wonder of the World. "Something wrong, Henry?"

Her voice was sympathetic and for a split second, Henry felt as if he was about to cry. Tears pricked at the backs of his eyes and he rapidly regained his composure and took a deep breath. He felt as close to Jo as anyone and really, except for Lucas who did he have to talk to about Abe?

"I ...Abe is having problems."

"Abe? Your roommate Abe?" Jo frowned and chewed on her bottom lip. "Like what kinds of problems?" She feared the worst. Urinary incontinence perhaps. That happened a lot to men of his age.

"Oh no, not what you're thinking it is." Henry shook his head.

"And just how do you know what I'm thinking?" Jo smoothly crossed 2 lanes of traffic to get to the bridge.

"Just call it intuition. Abe is fine, physically. It's his mental health that has me worried." Henry swallowed hard. His son, Abraham, having trouble with his memories. It had been 2 weeks of this, forgetting little things, and some big things, like leaving the stove on and then walking away to read a book.

"You mean he's getting funny?" Jo asked.

"'Funny.'" Henry repeated. "No, not funny per se. Just..forgetful. Awfully forgetful. All the time it seems."

"Henry." Jo's voice was soft and persuasive. "These things happen. Abe is ..how old? Seventies? A lot of people get early onset--"

"--NOT ABE." Henry's voice was louder than it should have been and it stopped Jo from conversation. "Not Abe." Henry said softer this time, a trace of melancholy in his rich voice. "He's....just having a bit of trouble."

"And you're worried about him. It has to be more than a little bit."

"Yeah. Maybe it is." Henry was silent as Jo swung the car into the parking area behind the store. "You want to come in and eat dinner? See him for yourself?

Jo paused. On one hand, what was she doing? This was worse than speed dating. Henry Morgan of all people was asking her to come eat dinner with him. Oh, it would start with dinner, then another dinner, maybe a lunch, some walks in the park, and then boom! Before she knew it, he'd be asking to have a relationship with her and it was soon, too soon for that. But she looked at him and his face was haunted by the knowledge, by the guess that there was something wrong with his friend. Jo felt her heart move even before she answered him. "Why not? Roast chicken sounds great."

The 2 of them walked to the front door of the shop tastefully emblazoned with Abe's Antiques. Jo had been inside only once. She was curious, despite her misgivings, to see where Dr. Morgan lived. As Henry turned the handle, an ear piercing alarm went off, making both of them jump.

"Henry! It's an alarm!" Jo covered her ears, then mentally cursed herself because that was a deduction anyone could have made.

"Abraham knew I wasn't home yet." Henry quickly stabbed the buttons that would turn off the alarm, trying to manage it in under 3 seconds, before the police and the alarm company itself were notified. The ringing stopped and someone from far up the street started yelling about 'turning the damned thing off'. New York. You had to love their patience levels, Henry thought. He opened the door for Jo letting the slim woman go ahead of him and then caught up with her and indicated the second level, where their living quarters were. "I am not sure Abe is home--"

"Abe is home."

Henry stopped and swallowed his annoyance. "Yes, Abe is home and yet Abe still set the alarm when Abe knew I wasn't home yet." Henry paused in the doorway of the kitchen, watching the older man who was sitting at the table, reading the newspaper. A half eaten peanut butter and jam sandwich sat on a plate beside his elbow. "Abraham, you promised roasted chicken and sweet potatoes. I brought Jo home."

"Eh?" Abe looked up over his glasses, shoving the newspaper down to get a look at her. "Sorry. I don't remember making such a promise. I think Henry's making that up." He went back to reading. Henry threw Jo a look that said 'see' and then grabbed a take away menu off the fridge door.

"Guess we'll just order Thai then." Henry made a great deal out of opening the menu and offering it to Jo, who shrugged.

Abe suddenly got up and rubbed his back. "THink I'll go to my room. Read my new book."

"Don't let us drive you away," Jo said, smiling at the older man as he walked past them. Oh she really should have gone home, put on her jimjams and watched another episode of Sex and the City. This was getting too close, too familiar. And yet, she wanted to support Henry. Just one look at his miserable face told her he was concerned beyond reproach. "Maybe you'll come out when the food gets here."

"What are you reading, then, Abraham?" Henry called out to Abe's retreating figure.

"The Naked and The Dead. Mailer's got it together. I hope Johnny Carson gets him on the Tonight Show."

"All of them are quite dead now. Mailer AND Carson. And you've already read that book. I got a hardcover copy for you several years ago." Henry hovered in the doorway and mouthed at Jo. _He's not remembering these things._

"That's where you're wrong, Mister Know it All. Now entertain your young lady. And none of this staying all night. I've got morals, ya know."

"God almighty." Henry looked up at the ceiling but instead of being embarrassed, Jo started to laugh.

"Let's just order, Dr. Morgan."

 

Three hours and two bottles of Gewürztraminer later, Jo was drunk. She was sitting on the couch, long hair in her face, giggling as Henry, who was also feeling quite spritely, explained the duel.

"You need to be men of honour. Cowards are useless in this kind of thing."

"So you take how many steps?" Jo listed sideways on the couch and despite Henry's drunken veil, he saw how beautiful she was. He looked away, struck by the thought of another beautiful woman, this one blond and blue eyed instead of dark haired and raven eyed, "How many chances do you get? One? LIke bang, you're dead and it's over?"

"Something like that." Henry decided he was sobering up and so he sat down beside Jo, who giggled again and grabbed at her empty glass. 

"Got any more, Doc?" She said.

"I think you have had enough for now, Jo." Henry gently took her fingers, exerting gentle pressure until she let go of the stem of the glass. "Maybe you should stay here for the night instead of driving home."

"Ohhhhh so that's it....get me drunk then...then make a move..." Jo stood up, weaving and looking around in confusion. "Wait. We were going to investigate someone. Your roommate! Abe! Where's Abe?"

"Jo." Henry stood next to her and put his fingers to her mouth. She was so close he could smell her perfume, a light misting of Chanel mixed with a simple body butter moisturizer. He inhaled. She leaned against him, trying to stand straight. "Just let me take you into the guest room. You can sleep it off there."

"You're a very nice man." She snorted and giggled again, and with one hand traced the contours of Henry's face. "Wow. Handsome."

"Shhhh." Henry began to lead her down the hall when a shrill buzzing sounded from her belt.

"Oh my God, my phone. Oh, wait, you say mobile in England."

"I am not British," Henry began but Jo answered her phone cutting off Henry's protest.

"Yeah? Yes. Yes I will. Certainly. You're sure? Oh ok, get her checked out. My partner and I will be down as soon as we can." Jo slid the phone off and looked up at Henry with doubt in her pretty wide eyes. "There was a jogger who was accosted and abducted. She got free but she's pretty banged up. She's at University Medical. Want to go?"

"DO they think she's part of the Jane Doe mystery?" Henry said, excitement building and Abe momentarily put on the back burner.

"Her abductors were going to torture her." Jo's eyes went hard and she brushed her hair back from her face. "Henry, I need a favour. An extra toothbrush. A towel and maybe a washcloth...wait, what do you call them where you come from?" She had seen the momentary quizzical look on Henry's face. "I need to get down there and I'm not sure I can drive. Can you handle a car?"

"Can I...drive..." Henry asked.

"Yeah, can you drive my car?"

"I'll ...try...been a while..." Henry stammered. When was the last time? Oh, the funeral procession for Abigail. He had ridden in the hearse to the cemetery then taken his car, and Abe, back to the antiques store. It was a silent and very long ride. "I'll get you the things you asked for. I also have some chlorophyll tablets. Good at masking any alcohol smell. We'll both take some and be fine."

Jo put her hand on Henry's arm making him stop his frantic movements. "I did have a good time..in case you're wondering...and don't worry about Abe. Maybe it's just a phase he's going through."

"Oh how I want to believe that, Jo. I really do." Henry furrowed his brows, then paused and collected himself. "Right. Toothbrush. Flannel. Towel."

"I've got a hunch this girl will be the missing piece to this puzzle!" Jo called out at Henry's retreating figure.

"I hope you're right, Jo." henry found the items and laid them out. This evening was certainly not going as planned but really, when was his life ever orderly and neat?

 


End file.
